


You're Falling Deep Into a Pit of Vipers

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Childhood Friends to Enemies, Enemies With Benefits, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Manipulation, Morally Ambiguous Character, References to Time Travel, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26035072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Yes, keep playing the innocent victim,Clementine thinks, crowding the girl even tighter against the plush cushions.You taught me not to trust anyone and I’m very thankful for that. Now, I can return the favour. Let me adore you, Sophronia. That will only make your downfall so much sweeter to witness.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Time Travelling Noble Lady With a Grudge/The One Responsible For Her Bad End
Kudos: 8
Collections: Anonymous





	You're Falling Deep Into a Pit of Vipers

**Author's Note:**

> General plot summary for context: There are two rival daughters in the nobility, competing against each other for the crown prince’s hand. The younger, Sophronia, acted innocent and demure, while the older, Clementine, was more promiscuous and wild. As a result, Sophronia plotted against the Clementine by gaining the favour of the royal family and she was falsely accused of treason. On her deathbed, dying in her prison cell, Clementine is sent back to her teenage years to enact revenge on those who wronged her.

Perhaps it is wrong of Clementine to accost another noble lady in such a brazen manner. They are technically in public after all, with maids scurrying past the locked door and her own tea party still long from completion. However, this is such perfect timing for her to play with her favourite little toy. 

It had been an accident that the butler had tripped over the tip of Clementine’s out-dated heels, a pair reminiscent of bygone fashion trends that she could afford to get a bit dirty. She hadn’t meant for her rival’s brand new dress, forged from material too expensive to be familiar to most of the empire, to be soaked and stained by Clementine’s favourite brand of tea. 

Out of the kindness of his heart, she had offered to help fix the girl’s ruined powder and replace the dress with anything the nearest maid could manage to drag out of the dustiest corner of her closet. She had absolutely not shared a triumphant grin with the ladies on her table that she had pulled securely into her faction or tapped the butler’s shoulder in apology for her slightly over-the-top actions. Of course not. 

Sophronia is so small. It has always been an undeniable fact, of course, but up close, pressed between the curves of Clementine’s slender frame and the armrest of a crimson lounge chair, she is even more of a fragile and frail-looking thing. A shaking little lamb, she could only be described as, trapped by the misleadingly thin arms of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Sophronia swallows, loudly, and Clementine’s eyes narrow in turn, watching as her pale neck tilts back to reveal unblemished skin. The thought of sinking her teeth into her throat and leaving behind marks that could not be erased is too exciting. 

“Lady Clementine, I do believe the others are waiting for us,” she protests, carefully avoiding such words that would signal her knowledge of the desire that burns deep in Clementine’s chest, pulse racing at the hunt, so fast she can barely stand it. Sophronia sounds so flustered that Clementine’s heart sings and she lifts a hand gently, scraping her thumb over her bottom lip, which trembles in a manner that is far too inviting for her own good. 

_Yes, keep playing the innocent victim_ , Clementine thinks, crowding the girl even tighter against the plush cushions, nudging her nose against Sophronia’s own in the childish manner she witnesses the children of commoners do in their playgrounds. A falsified show of affection, but there all the same. _You taught me not to trust anyone and I’m very thankful for that. Now, I can return the favour. Let me adore you, Sophronia. That will only make your downfall so much sweeter to witness_.

Even if Sophronia plead for abstinence to the high heavens, it would do her no good, not when her legs part so eagerly around Clementine’s hips, not when she whimpers as Clementine tugs at the buttons of her bodice, knocking away the robin-shaped brooch set above the girl’s heart with a huff. It seems that even in returning to partake in old events anew, truly nothing predictable could change, for the royal family has welcomed this girl into their ranks so easily, as if their blue blood already runs through her veins.

The golden tokens of their endorsement will lose their shine soon, however. Sophronia’s rising prestige will halt, eventually, as everything that rises must ultimately crash and burn. In due time, the tokens that are dropped in her lap will vanish, the peers who line the path to her family’s estate to earn their backing will exit through the gate and Sophronia will be all alone, her ring finger missing the sign of the love of the man she tried urgently to seduce. Clementine licks her lips, high on the thought of witnessing this pathetic girl’s plans crumble into dust. 

For Sophronia does not do kindness. She spins tall tales, instead. Lies, half-truths and manipulation are her forte. She frolics around carelessly, parading herself as a demure heroine, free of guilt, absolved of all sin. But the curtain will fall soon, every actor will remove their masks, and in the aftermath of this elaborate masquerade ball, it will become apparent that this one is not fit for the title of queen. Clementine will not delude herself into believing that the crown prince’s side is where she truly wishes to be, but she will lead the empire from the shadows if doing so will save her life. 

She is not a good woman herself, but she has never pretended to be. The noble ladies in a timeline long wiped from existence considered her a villainess who hid sneaky smirks behind the elegant fan too luxurious for her standing, a tyrant who would strike without notice or care, a monster clawing through the disguise of a sophisticated lady to wreak havoc. Perhaps they were not wrong. But she recalls the soothing voice of an old maid, the only comfort as she rotted away in a prison cell, and the clumsily confident children of nearby villages who treated a traitor to the throne as someone who held humanity, not a starving vermin to overlook. With the power that will be bestowed, she will repay their goodwill. She will protect those who need protecting. She swears it. 

Each shuddered breath Sophronia releases is heavy and whole-bodied, nudging apart her immaculately-styled and honey-coloured bangs so they rest uneven over glossy green eyes. Poor, silly Sophronia, such an easy target for ruin and so willing to be brought to tears by the girl she vehemently hates, so strong in her hate that in the time before she ravaged away any sign of life in eyes that had once been blindingly blue. Sophronia could have earned herself the title of mastermind yet again, but she’s weak to the touches of a budding woman who knows, sees, understands more than such a brat could ever comprehend. 

This growth spurt has done Clementine wonders. She had been malnourished, once upon a time, as her family’s funds had dwindled away into a void, as invitations to tea parties for feasts of cake and gossip had never arrived. All she could manage was a lowly slice of moldy bread, stuffing her face with next-to-nothing, wasting away in a dungeon with the bones jutting out of her shoulders. But she is loved now, adored to the moon and back. Her sweet tooth is infamous, as local cafes seek her out for the first taste of their pastries, as older ladies pinch her cheek and feed her another batch of tarts. Clementine will never know that primitive kind of hunger again, but she is still starved of satisfaction and she finds it here instead, towering so high above Sophronia, looking down her nose as if she is inspecting a little deer that has wandered into a lion’s den. 

There is no love fueling Clementine’s touch, solely just the lust born from eons of repressed bitterness. In her luxurious gowns, dancing in villainess’ shoes, it had been so easy to capture the hearts of immature men, but their roles as her playthings grew tiresome fast and she derived little fulfillment from the lines that had stolen from easily accessed romance novels. She had yearned for this instead, the soft form of another girl that she could treat as callous as she desired. Just as she had messed with the nobles that laid themselves willingly at her feet, at least until her true nature had reared its ugly head, she will puppeteer this would-be princess till she is forced off stage. 

Clementine is greedy now, greedier than ever, drunk off her own power, but Sophronia should be thankful. Her maybe betrothed, the man she may swear fealty to as her husband, is a spineless creature, who has fallen for the tricks of a serpent. Sophronia’s dress may be cutting-edge, lined with the finest lace a tailor could provide, and rubies and emeralds encased in sparkling gold hang from her ears, glittering in the summer sun, but these were gifts of expectation.

The modest necklace that drips from Clementine’s throat, resting over the baby blue edges of her favourite corset, is a far more subdued present, exactly the kind of subtle jewelry the crown prince prefers on a possible wife. It is a locket in fact, engraved with heartfelt love talk, hiding the shrunken letters of a lost man within. Prince Lucian may have to abide by the tide of his parent’s approval for appearances sake, but he is a man through and through, torn apart by his heart and mind. Raised in the shadow of war, witnessing bloodshed since he was a babe, expected to wear a crown forged from the bones of the fallen, he has no love for the wealth that caused such destruction. 

Clementine has outgrown him now, is no longer the fool who was wanton for nothing more than a fairytale ending, is no longer the laughing stock of noble houses, is now everything she was once not. But even so, he may have his uses eventually. She will win this man that she does not crave for, but Sophronia is oblivious to such a conclusion, clinging desperately to the one who will never return such dim-witted desires. Once, her facade of chastity all wrapped up in an ethereal bow had seemed like an escape from the horrors of a knightly uprising, but the prince knows better now and his gaze will not waver from the steadfast morals of the Chadwick heiress. 

Sophronia will never be taught pleasure or passion from a coward such as he, but isn’t it the duty of a fellow lady to warn her of the troubles that such men can’t help but bring into fruition? Clementine, oh, sugary sweet Clementine with her humble manners and lovely smile, who only spews venom behind closed doors, is eager to be her tutor. _He loves me. He loves you not, Sophronia. But do not fret. You still have much to learn and I’m a very willing guide._ An upper-class lady may have taught her the barebones of etiquette and Clemetine may have clung onto such her studies out of desperation for a better end, but a part of her still remembers how good it feels to just let go and her muscles have memorised the delight of being feral. 

Their lips meet, pressed together hard and fast, forcefully, such a violent thing that their teeth clash. Clemetine smiles into it unwillingly, the pain rattling her jaw a reminder that she is oh so alive, the feeling of Sophronia shaking and shuddering beneath her oddly comforting. Sohpronia tastes of bittersweet victory, of mint and strawberries, a combination that nudges at the back of Clementine’s conscience, guiding her forward to remember something so important. 

_Ah, we were so much softer once, weren’t we?_ A childhood spent lazing in the nearby flower fields has never been a comforting memory, for the bubbly blonde-haired child that once was Clementine relaxed unaware by the side of a more youthful Sophronia Alderidge. They spun together daisy crowns, slipped roses into the gaps in their blouses, pressed lilies between the pages of books borrowed from the local library and created colourful bouquets for the other to display on the window sill of their rooms. Each flower had been an unspoken promise of never letting go. _What happened to us? You promised a kinder path ahead and then tore it up brick by brick, ripping off the final petal. You love me not. And now, in tandem, I shall not love you. But I will set things right, just you wait._

When she finally drags herself back, Sophronia chases after the kiss, chases after Clementine, chases for the feeling that only Clementine’s deceptively plush lips can provide. Sophronia’s pupils are blown wide and her own lips are swollen a soft shade of red and Clementine can’t help but pinch her chin between her thumb and her forefinger, licking back into that enticing mouth, as if they have all the time in the world for such a sordid affair. Well, Clementine does, after all. God gave her alone this control over clockwork and she allows herself drawn out minutes to finally shut Sophronia up. _It’s only fair we get to spend so much time like this, since you spent so long taunting me at the witnesses’ stand. But I will no longer allow you to decide what comes next. I pine for your undoing and God themself will grant me my comeuppance._

Clementine dips her hand beneath the heavy skirt of the other’s dress, ice cold fingers pressing against just a sliver of exposed skin, and Sophronia squeaks, squealing a high-pitched noise that should be disgusting but Clementine can only bring herself to want to hear it over and over again, tumbling through her clouded mind on repeat. _I was a dumb little girl once, wasn’t I?_ she sighs, sliding the palm of her hand further and further up the expanse of Sophronia’s leg. _I was blinded by ignorance. I thought you would be forgiving. But this time, I am the one giving orders. You will have to plead for my mercy. Clementine may mean merciful but I will make sure that you pay, Sophronia._

Sophronia is an unmarred beauty, untouched by men and women alike, as chaste and virginal as a queen candidate must always be, a fact she shares with the body Clementine herself has taken ownership of. But this Clementine, the soul that has witnessed the rise and fall of the prior royalty twice over, the soul that could spin true tales of what hardships this empire has yet to face, is no stranger to corruption. 

She’ll tear Sophronia apart with teeth and tongue as her hands fist Clementine’s hair, nails sinking past the golden curls to scrape at her scalp in turn. She’ll clasp her fingers down hard over bare thin thighs, so every time Sophronia peers into a mirror, she’ll trace her touch over the marks and know better. Sophronia had left her battered and bruised, a mangled mess that could no longer be considered human due to her deceit, so sickeningly a monstrosity, and Clementine will give her that downfall tenfold. Can anyone truly blame her for having a little more fun with the opening of this tragedy?

_You ruined me once, dearest friend. Now I will ruin you._


End file.
